In Passing
by Lexie Jayne
Summary: Trinity has a chat with someone she was once close to.


AN: I do not own any of the characters you recognize from the Matrix or Reloaded. They belong to the Wachowski Bros.  
  
This fic isn't something that I've seen before, and I'm really interested in readers' reactions and such. So, please  
  
review.  
  
Thoughts are between "*". Something being read is between "//"  
  
----  
  
The room was old fashioned, like out of a movie or a book. That's why her Grandmother hated letting her come in here. And that's why Trinity loved the room so much. Her Grandfather's office. With the red velvet couch against one wall, the beautiful gold mirror hanging above the fireplace, the bookcase, crammed with old copies of famous books and the huge pine desk at the other end of the room.  
  
Trinity slipped inside the room, gazing around. Heavy red velvet curtains hung over the enormous windows, keeping all light out. A lamp lit the desk, and a fire crackled in the fireplace but there was no other light.  
  
Trinity smiled to herself. The slim, silver laptop set up on the pine desk looked out of place. Like an Uzi in the middle of Shakespeare. But this little … idiosyncrasy of her Grandfather's had always comforted her, always amused her, as a child.  
  
Trinity paused at the small phone table next to the couch. Covered in old journals and books, and a slim silver frame with a wedding photo. While her Grandfather was always promising he'd 'clear away the clutter', it never happened. And it never would happen.   
  
Reaching down, Trinity picked up a small, worn copy of 'MacBeth'. The ink on the pages was smeared from wear, and the pages were delicately creased. Trinity flipped to the front cover.   
  
// To My Angel,  
  
On her Tenth Birthday. //  
  
Her mother had hated reading and literature. Each birthday, her Grandfather would present her with another beautifully bound copy of something. Something old, that he had been given by his mother, who had been given it by her grandmother. Romeo and Juliet, Little Women, What Katy Did.  
  
"You cannot criticize until you know all the facts," her Grandfather had said. "You must read and learn and then make the corrections. Never make the same mistake twice."  
  
Trinity had hated Shakespeare. All that flowery language, spineless characters. And the insipid books about girls desperate to get married. It just wasn't the real world.  
  
"But what is real?" Grandfather had said. "What your sense say are real? Just because you can touch and smell something doesn't mean it is real. Have you ever seen, with your own eyes, and touched, with your own hands, one million dollars?"  
  
"No," ten-year old Trinity had replied slowly.  
  
"Yet, you believe that one million dollars exists," Grandfather said, patting her hair.  
  
And Trinity had. Her grandparents lived comfortably, but Trinity's mother had been poor. Very poor.   
  
Trinity flipped to the back of the book. A photo was sticky taped there, an old one. Of Trinity, a little girl, sitting on her grandfather's lap. Her black hair in pigtails, wearing a cute dress.  
  
"Angel," came the strong voice. "I didn't hear you come in."  
  
Trinity whipped around, her sunglasses almost falling off her face.  
  
"Yes, I know it's you. Come over here."  
  
Her Grandfather. Exactly how he was when she left with Morpheus thirteen years ago. Every line in his face, every hair on his head. She moved forward, feeling out of place in her Matrix leathers, the dark glasses on her face. This wasn't her world anymore. No beautiful books, long, philosophical talks and …   
  
"Don't give me that look, child," the old man stood up. "Almost thirty. Look at you."  
  
Trinity blinked.  
  
"Don't look at all like your sister. Or your mother. Not at all a shame. Original, my girl. That's how you look." He wore a strange expression on his face. Of … satisfaction … and … maybe, pride?  
  
Trinity took off her glasses, looking around. Several pictures of her, her family, were positioned around the room. Trinity never remembered posing for photos, but they were there. Living proof she had been apart of someone's life. An important part.  
  
"I told that mother of yours, you weren't dopey enough to go running off and get yourself murdered. That was something your sister would've done. Not you," He declared. "Too smart, you were. Too smart for your mother and father and grandmother. Old bat. Too smart for me, you were."  
  
Trinity looked alarmed. "No."  
  
Her Grandfather smiled. "Yes." He walked around the other side of the desk. "Much smarter. I knew you would be, the first time you told your Grandmother … what was it? Ahh, yes. Told her to, 'shove it.' You were four."  
  
"Television has a lot to answer for," Trinity muttered.  
  
"You were smarter. I knew that. I taught you everything I knew, Angel. And then, you found someone who could teach you more." Her Grandfather beamed at her. "Ahh, all those glorious dreams of you going to Vassar, or Harvard or MIT … I knew you wouldn't. Too brilliant."  
  
Trinity stared at him. "I wasn't…"  
  
"You were. But maybe I'm the biased Grandfather," he said.   
  
"Probably," Trinity replied.  
  
"How many old men do you know that would be proud of their school-aged granddaughter breaking into the IRS database via a computer?" he retorted.  
  
"Three," Trinity replied back evenly.  
  
He smiled at her. "Why are you here? Why come now?"  
  
"Because…" Trinity began. And she stopped. And she felt sad.  
  
"Because you're happy," He moved to the window, opening the curtain, to reveal moonlight. "Because you wanted to come here and tell me you're happy, that leaving me and your family behind was worth it because you are finally content."  
  
Trinity stared at him.  
  
"You know it's true."  
  
"You know I know it's true."  
  
"Exactly," he nodded, not looking at her. "So, why are you happy now? I don't recall his name - my memory must be going."  
  
"Neo," Trinity said softly.  
  
"Neo. I've never seen you look this… this beautiful," He turned around to face her. "I wish I could thank him for that. But then, I feel you've thanked him enough for the both of us."  
  
Trinity felt herself turn slightly red. "I wish you could meet him - I wish you could've met all of them."  
  
"Your 'crew'?" he asked, picking up a fancy cigar. "Yes, yes. They know how much I owe to them. They know how grateful I am to them for making you so happy. You were never this happy at home."  
  
"No," Trinity sighed. "You taught me that."  
  
Her Grandfather looked surprised. "I taught you to be unhappy?"  
  
Trinity nodded. "Yes, you did."  
  
"Please continue., m'dear."  
  
"You taught me never to accept what I saw and thought as true reality. And knowing I wasn't living my life made me look for my real life. And searching made me frustrated. And unhappy. I wanted reality. Nothing else," Trinity said evenly.  
  
"I wanted it too," he echoed softly. "I looked, and looked but I couldn't find it. I wasn't smart enough, I knew that. I knew that I couldn't let you live a lie. I had to teach you, fast, so you could live reality. So your children could live in reality."  
  
"What if this was better that reality?" Trinity asked.  
  
"You wouldn't have left if it was," he smirked at her. "Don't pretend I don't know you, Ca… Trinity, because I know you better than I know myself."  
  
Trinity blinked. "You called me…"  
  
"It's been your name for thirteen years. Why would I call you anything else?" Her grandfather demanded. "Honestly, when they fished you out, I think they knocked out a couple of brain cells."  
  
"Fished me out?" Trinity blinked. "How do you know…?"  
  
"Do you really want to know that Morpheus and I have been in cahoots for years, Trinity?" He asked, puffing on the cigar. "I didn't think so. Next question."  
  
"What makes you so sure I'll have children?"  
  
Her grandfather began laughing; heartily.   
  
"Ahh, you've always been a comic, Trinity. I'm glad you haven't lost your humorous side. I know things and I know you."  
  
Trinity shook her head.  
  
"Now, I'm afraid, it is time for you to go, Trinity," her Grandfather straightened, looking at her. "Now, Trinity. You are now a beautiful, talented, intelligent woman with a whole life ahead of her. I do not think anything could make me prouder of you at this moment. Except maybe a change in wardrobe. But to each, her own, I suppose."  
  
Trinity couldn't help but smile.  
  
"I am proud of you, and what you are doing. I love you, I do not blame you for leaving and I know everything will work out just fine," her grandfather said, smiling. "Now, I believe it is time you moved on, my girl. Good night."  
  
He motioned to the door with his hand, as if he was dismissing her.   
  
Trinity span on her heal, walking towards the door. Reaching for the handle. Waiting for her Grandmother to start ranting on how she shouldn't have been in there; Grandfather liked his peace and quiet.  
  
"Trinity? Trinity? Are you okay?"  
  
Black. Then red. Then black with little white dots. And Neo's face.  
  
"Are you okay, Trinity?" Morpheus's voice was disembodied, floating.  
  
"Where am I?" she asked groggily, trying to clear her mind.  
  
"On the ship. Do you remember what happened?" Morpheus's voice asked her.  
  
Trinity blinked. Someone… talking …  
  
"We were in the Matrix, checking a drop point," Neo prompted. "There were agents. They cornered you."  
  
Tank's voice interrupted. "Fired off a couple of rounds, Trin. You and some old dude came out the worse for wear. Neo swooped down and saved the day."  
  
Trinity felt cold inside. "The old… the old man - is he okay?"  
  
Tank exchanged looks with Morpheus and Neo.   
  
"Trinity," Morpheus said gently, "they shot two rounds off. You're lucky to be alive."  
  
"He died."  
  
Trinity's voice was flat.   
  
"He wouldn't have known what had happened," Neo said stroking her hair. "He saved your life."  
  
Trinity closed her eyes. *I believe it is time you moved on, my girl.*  
  
"Who was he?"  
  
It didn't matter. The chance of it being her grandfather in the Matrix was unlikely. One chance in a million, maybe. But … maybe it had … maybe… He was proud of her … but that was a concussed delusion. She was almost thirty. Her grandfather had probably been dead for years.  
  
*Just because you can touch and smell something doesn't mean it is real…*  
  
And just because you can touch and smell something doesn't mean it *isn't* real, either. 


End file.
